


Universal Wavefunction

by onvavoir



Series: Teumessian Fox [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Universal Wavefunction

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide whether Bucky stayed or went. So I wrote both.

Matt takes a half step backwards, towards the bedroom. Bucky's weight is immobile at first, until Matt's hands tug at him, until his tongue flicks and his lips close against Bucky's mouth. He's not above using his body to convince Bucky to stay.

They move slowly, weight shifting, arms around each other, until eventually they reach the bed. Matt sits down. He lifts Bucky's shirt and presses his lips to firm muscle. He feels and hears the breath that Bucky drags into his lungs.

Bucky's hands card his hair, one soft and one hard, both equally gentle. The contrast in sensation makes him hang his head. Fingers knead at his neck.

"How did you know it was me?" he murmurs.

Bucky snorts. "You knew my name."

Matt smiles ruefully against his stomach. "Yeah, I guess that was pretty obvious."

Hardly the dumbest thing he's done--that's a hotly contested title. Bucky sinks down to his knees on the floor. He looks up at Matt and then leans up to brush his lips against his throat.

"Besides," he whispers. "I recognised your mouth."

Matt lets out a laugh that elides into an ohhhh as Bucky's hands run up his thighs over the texture of the armor. They pull and pluck. He grunts in frustration.

"How the fuck do you get this off?"

"Here..."

The robotic hand is a little more deft, finds the fastenings and undoes them with wicked speed. The suit's designed to come off with relative ease in case of injury. Bucky peels it off him and kisses the skin he exposes. The gentle pop of his lips against Matt's stomach, chest, arms, the tickle of his hair as it brushes Matt's leg, all of it winds him up. The scent of Bucky intensifies, his usual inexpensive soap smell layered over with sweat and the rising arousal. He pulls Bucky's t-shirt off over his head and unzips his jeans. The undressing is punctuated by open-mouthed kisses on whatever part is most easily reached.

"How big is your shower?" Bucky asks, apropos of nothing.

Matt smiles against his lips. "Huge."

Bucky stands up, his cock half-hard, and it takes considerable discipline for Matt not to just suck him off right there. He walks ahead of Bucky, backwards. Showing off a little. Into the echoing space of the bathroom, which provides very interesting acoustics indeed for just this sort of thing. Matt turns on the shower and strips off his boxer briefs. He can feel Bucky's gaze on him. It makes him flush, makes his cock go that much harder.

He's about to joke about the possibility of no hot water when Bucky shoves him against the wall and kisses him. The tiles are freezing on his back. Bucky is hot at his front. Matt's toes curl a little, and he drags him into the shower stall and the roar of water.

Sometimes when Matt's feeling overwhelmed, he turns on the shower and just stands there until the water goes cold. The sound of the shower is white noise, drowns out car horns and conversations and the electronic buzz of the billboard outside. He listens to the machine-gun fast richochet of water droplets and gives himself over to the sensation of the shower head throwing darts of water at his back and neck. Now Bucky backs him up against the slick, cold tiles. Kisses him. He shivers a little.

The left arm whirs and clicks, like a hard drive spinning, and braces next to Matt's ear. He can sense the warmth and proximity of Bucky's lips. He lifts his chin, tilts his head. He can _hear_ Bucky's smile. He hears the flick of Bucky's tongue over his lips and only then does he lean in to seal his mouth against Matt's.

Bucky's other hand drags fingertips down his wet skin, collarbone, sternum, rib, and then touches the scar on his side, the wound that nearly killed him. He's never asked about it, and Matt would rather not tell. His hand moves on, down to the crest of Matt's hipbone. It traces an arc, a parabola from hip to hip with a teasing vertex just above his hard-on. Matt's hands, resting on Bucky's hips, move around to squeeze his ass. They smile into the kissing.

The left hand whines a little, a sound Matt's come to recognise as its fingers closing, just before they tangle in his hair and hold his head. His knees nearly give way. He slumps a little against the wet tiles. The cold is starting to seep in, shoulders and the back of his head and the muscle of his ass. Bucky's breathing shallows and quickens as his tongue dips in and out of Matt's mouth. His right hand slips between Matt's back and the wall.

His fingers follow the cleft of his ass, downward with agonising purpose, and Matt gasps as he teases him with the tip of one of them-- the middle finger, Matt can _tell_ , and the noise he makes is strangled and undignified. Bucky takes advantage of his extended neck to mouth at it. His lips and teeth suck at the skin, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. The hardness of teeth on the skin over collarbone and jaw pulls an indistinct _unh_ from him.

There's the slightest pause as Bucky clocks the response, and then he nips at Matt's shoulders. His finger pushes deeper. His teeth catch Matt's earlobe between them, and Matt quails, paralysed with want, holding himself upright through sheer will. A plea trips on his tongue. He swallows it, because he doesn't want Bucky to stop, doesn't care about getting off. He's high on the dizzying combination of hard metal fingers in his hair, the warmth of Bucky and the press of his cock, the chill of the tile, finger pressing just a little bit further into his ass. He hangs suspended between all those sensations, wrapped in steam and rushing water. He could come right now if he wanted. But he doesn't want to.

Bucky works him a little longer, tongue and teeth and fingers, and then steps back. Matt nearly collapses. His body aches at the withdrawal, and his fingertips dig into Bucky's hips. His hands cup Bucky's jaw. He kisses him, tongue and lips and teeth, nipping and sucking. Bucky's hand closes around his cock and startles a moan out of him. Matt goes up on his toes, leaning into it. He strokes Bucky in return, plans to give as good as he gets.

There's always a kind of desperation in Bucky during sex, as if he's not sure when or if he'll ever have it again. He gives it his all. Matt suspects it's linked to his trauma. He still doesn't know what it was, not exactly, but it must have something to do with his arm. The thought evaporates from his mind as Bucky squeezes his dick.

Matt's breath catches, and his head drops onto Bucky's shoulder. Obscenities spill from his lips, mostly _fuck_ and _yes_ and _Bucky_ and _oh_. He's not usually this vocal, but Bucky remains preternaturally quiet, even when he's coming. If not for Matt's litany of filth, the only sounds would be skin and the bombination of Bucky's left arm.

He can feel and hear Bucky's climax, tightening of muscles and a catch in his breath that he only gets when he's about to come. Like he's surfacing for air after a long spell of holding his breath. He shudders then, and Matt feels the throb of his cock just before he comes all over his stomach. 

His hand is still around Matt's cock, loosely. The fingers curl around it again, thumb making little circles on the head, and Matt nearly shouts. Bucky's breath is hot in his ear. Water sheets down his back and drips into his face, but he couldn't care less as long as Bucky keeps doing this. Whether it's out of impatience or just the urge to watch him come, Bucky tightens his grip. His lips skim along the line of Matt's neck and shoulder. Matt senses what's about to happen just before it does. Bucky sinks his teeth into Matt's shoulder, just hard enough to mark, in just the right place, and Matt comes so hard that this time his knees do buckle. The metal arm holds him up, and Matt gusts out a great breath before his body comes back under his control. He clutches at Bucky, finds his lips, kisses him deeply. Something inside him twists in comprehension. He viciously tamps it down.

Now that Matt's legs can hold him up, Bucky reaches over to turn off the shower. He opens the door just enough to grab towels-- the softest ones Matt could find. They dry off in companionable silence and then get into bed. Bucky lies on his side facing the bedroom door. Matt curls up behind him, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. His arm drapes over Bucky's waist alongside the quiet hum of the prosthetic. He knows Bucky will leave by dawn. Matt's always disappointed to wake as he gets up and gets dressed, and he always pretends to be asleep so that it won't be awkward and weird.

When the quiet of the night gives way to morning traffic and pigeons and someone's radio upstairs, Matt reaches over to prove to himself that Bucky is still there, still real and warm in his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [What if Bucky left?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3841741)


End file.
